The Veiled Bastard of Logres
In the empire's social circles, if you had to name the most shrouded figure, it would undoubtedly be Ian de Logres. He bore the title of the bastard son of Logres, but nothing else about him had ever been made public. The Logres ducal family had announced his name and existence, but that was it—nothing more. As if declaring they wouldn't show him off any further, they never let Ian appear in any public events.
Some thought they were reluctant to reveal him because he was a bastard, but that didn't hold water either. Their adopted daughter, Donnesia, had been paraded openly without a care. It was an unusual move for the Logres ducal house, which had adopted her regardless of her origins and showed no interest in politics. With no official stance from them, people grew curious. Why? Why was the Logres ducal house hiding Ian? What reason could the family—which ignored politics and public image—have for keeping him under wraps?
They probably didn't want to reveal him. Maybe he had health issues that made it hard for him to move around. Perhaps he was an abandoned child from Logres. Rumors like these began swirling among the empire's citizens. Among the countless bits of gossip, the most credible one was that Ian was so incompetent that Logres was hiding him.
This gained traction because Donnesia, whom the Logres family had publicly acknowledged, had displayed astonishing talent. She was a genius who commanded two unprecedentedly powerful spirits that no one had ever heard of before. 'If the Logres ducal house, which doesn't discriminate based on origins for the talented, is hiding him, how utterly useless must Ian be?' Her brilliance only fueled the rumors of Ian's incompetence.
But the ducal house remained silent. No matter how wild the rumors flew, Logres said nothing. The only one who claimed to have seen Ian, the Red Duke, left behind the cryptic words "Nothing at all," and never commented further.
Twenty years passed since Ian's existence was first revealed. Then, the silent Logres finally spoke up. They suddenly announced they were sending Ian to the academy. At the center of all the swirling speculation, Ian finally emerged into the world.
But his appearance was far from what anyone expected. A hulking giant over 2 meters tall. A brutish, intimidating build. His face looked so vicious, like he was in a foul mood, that no one dared approach him. He vanished somewhere unexpectedly, only to reappear at the end of the banquet, awkwardly dancing with Lady Donnesia using some clumsy steps while glancing around nervously. That was the Ian de Logres the world saw.
That was the image he imprinted on the nobles. An incredibly savage-looking brute. And the train hijacking by those heretics had solidified that image even further.
A naive young lord drunk on chivalry. The article claimed he'd stopped the terrorists, but hardly anyone believed it. Donnesia had been right there beside him. No one thought he'd taken them down alone—she must have done it. Yet somehow, through what sorcery, he'd caught the eye of Lady Isabella, Lady Donnesia, and even Lady Iris Floridia, who enjoyed the favor of foreign dignitaries.
I can't accept this. Stealing Lady Donnesia's credit as his own, then daring to speak insolently to Lady Isabella—the Flower of Eterna—and rejecting her invitation. And now Lady Iris too? He must have used some dark magic. Seeing Lady Iris trembling before him proved it—he'd clearly intimidated her. With his savage looks and the Logres backing, he'd threatened her for sure. A discarded wretch from the ducal house, no less. Poor innocent Lady Iris had fallen for his vile deception.
I had to save Lady Iris. That's why I blocked his path. His face was terrifying up close, but I couldn't back down. I had to rescue her from this beast.
"I'm asking why you're intimidating her."
Come at me, you beast. I'll rip off your mask in front of everyone.
"Why would I intimidate her?"
As expected, he immediately denied it. I could see him trying to dodge the situation. Of course. He wanted to run. But could he? You can't escape. Everyone here needs to see your true colors. Starting by exposing you, I'll save Lady Isabella and Lady Donnesia too.
"I'm not done talking yet."
I grabbed his shoulder. He stopped walking. His escape route was cut off. Now all he had to do was drop the mask and reveal his ugly true self…
"Now even some no-name bastard from nowhere is trying to boss people around."
But his next move wasn't the thrashing of a skinned prey.
"What…?"
"Hey, what house are you from?"
It was the gaze of a predator. You picked the wrong guy today.
# These fucking bastards. With voyeuristic perverts turning the chivalry lightning exam into a sideshow, living quietly was already doomed. But I stayed quiet hoping to lay low otherwise. Do they think I'm a real pushover? Fuck, what kind of life has this Ian fucker even lived?
"Hey."
"What?"
What? You little shit, casual speech.
"Deaf? I asked what house you're from."
"……The Owen house."
"You are?"
"…sir."
The Owen house… Oh, that swordsmanship marquisate? Wow, not even a ducal house—a marquis?
"I see. Owen, huh… So is this the Owen house's will? Or just your own initiative?"
"Pardon?"
"Can't understand? I'm asking if this rudeness comes from the Owen house or is your solo act."
The Owen house—that's the marquisate famed for swordsmanship, one of the crown prince's closest allies. This guy's probably Irien de Owen. The sub-male lead, heir to the swordsmanship marquis. In short, his backing is basically the imperial family.
So what? This isn't like the knight incident. Knights aren't supposed to take orders—that's the founding emperor's edict. This is just him losing his shit over a girl. And claiming I intimidated Iris? Total fabrication.
Slandering a ducal bastard? And.
"Even when you blocked my path, I held back. When you spouted nonsense no one should tolerate? I held back. Didn't want to make a scene. But you couldn't read the room and put your hand on me? What? And 'not done talking'?"
A marquis heir grabbing a ducal proxy because "not done talking"? What bullshit.
And he still hasn't snapped out of it.
"I'm here at this academy as a member of Logres, representing my brother Kasian."
This idiot hasn't heard from daddy, but I'm here as Kasian's proxy. Sent by the empire to keep foreign powers in check, as Logres's representative. So what does that make you, grabbing my shoulder? You're not picking a fight with a bastard—you're picking one with Logres's proxy.
A marquis heir picking a fight with a duke's proxy. Even if Logres ignores politics, they're one of the five dukes. Owen might be famous for swords, but they're just marquises. Even with the imperial family behind him, whose side do you think they'll take? No clue what he's banking on.
"Yet you grabbed my shoulder. Because your words 'weren't done.' Is your bullshit that important? Should I take that as looking down on Logres?"
"Th-that's."
"That's why I'm asking. Is the rudeness you're committing from your house, or your own doing? I've said it three times now. Don't test my patience further."
Pick a fight without knowing? Time to get smacked. He finally realized something was wrong—his eyes were practically rolling audibly. Or maybe the crowd had gone dead silent from this mess.
But why won't he speak?
"No answer, Owen? At this point, I figured you thought Logres was some lucky duke shoved in the boonies."
Eyes rolling. In that menacing atmosphere, no one dared make a sound. Then, the sound of someone swallowing hard.
"What's going on here?"
Someone intervened. Who'd step into this shitshow? But seeing the face, I got it. Golden blonde hair, golden eyes. The textbook romance novel protagonist look.
"Your Highness, the Second Prince."
It was Kyle de Astoria. The moron Irien lit up at the prince's arrival, thinking his house's imperial ties meant backup. Sub-male lead my ass…?
But crushing his hopes, Kyle ignored Irien.
"Long time no see, Sir Ian."
"It's been less than five days, so not that long, Your Highness."
"Haha, is that so? But here, I'm just an academy cadet. No need for formalities."
"I couldn't possibly."
As we chatted, Irien's face rapidly hardened. He hadn't known we were acquainted.
"How does Ian de Logres know His Highness the Second Prince?"
"And they seem pretty close…."
The crowd buzzed at our exchange.
"Sir Ian, why are you standing here instead of taking your seat?"
"Someone told me not to sit."
"Oh?"
Irien's complexion worsened. Lighten up, dumbass.
"He suddenly grabbed my shoulder. Said his words weren't done, so I stood to hear him out."
"I see."
Kyle nodded at my words, glanced at Irien, then.
"Irien."
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
His gentle smile vanished. Like dragging out his old delinquent days, he was pissed.
"How lightly do you view the imperial family to think you can be rude to Logres just because 'we're behind you'?"
"Th-that's."
"We need swords, not brainless beasts that bark without discernment."
Tsking his tongue, the Second Prince continued.
"I'll need to have a close talk with my brother about the Owen house later."
"Y-Your Highness… what do you mean?"
"We have no use for a blind horse that doesn't know where its cart is headed. Especially not a mad dog that embarrasses its master."
Turning to me, he headed back to his seat. To the glitching Irien, I slung an arm around his shoulder and continued.
"We're not done yet?"
Why think it's over? Your house getting disowned by the imperials ain't my problem. But we've got our own beef to settle, right?
# And so the little commotion ended.
Anyway, thanks to that idiot's fuckup wasting time, the room filled up. I had no choice but to take the last seat—next to Iris.
The only change? The way people looked at me now. No idea what life this Ian led before I possessed him. His memories had no chats with nobles. Being stuck in the north, with the duke ignoring politics, probably played a part.
Still, how much of a pushover was he that a marquis treats a duke like dogshit? And the Second Prince's timely intervention. Our chat let me signal ties to him—at least. Didn't expect full Logres backing and cutting off the Owens, though.
Either way, peace for a bit. Some still glaring? Not my problem. Especially those two shooting daggers—probably them. Must be jealous I'm next to Iris.
Then defend me, fuckers. Ditching without a word? And I gotta hook Iris up with those guys somehow, but no clue how. Fuck, 9 a.m. class sucks.
Maybe the early hour, but I yawned. Reason I'm in this godawful 9 a.m. class? Not scholarly zeal like other nobles.
To exploit Insight's skill acquisition ASAP.
'Basics and Understanding of Swordsmanship' is a must for swordsmanship route male leads and female protagonists learning it.
Observe them with Insight to snag skills. Perfect twofer.
Clack!
"Today's first class will be sparring."
And the opener is sparring. Watch male leads use skills, copy with Insight. Eat your cake and have it too, right?
Should be.
"Ian de Logres."
At the emotionless voice, I dropped my pen.
The one nominating me as her sparring partner.
"I'll choose Ian as my opponent."
Was Angelica di Olivier.
Fuck.